


𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕀𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕪 ❖ 𝑇𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑏𝑦 𝑇𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟

by AOnceToldStory



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Explicit Language, Gang Violence, Gangster Choi Soobin, Gangsters, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pickpockets, Serious Injuries, Sexual Content, Yeonjun and Beomgyu are brothers, unimportant ocs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AOnceToldStory/pseuds/AOnceToldStory
Summary: The streets of Seoul belong to those who obey the law when it's convenient for them. The Korean gangster world leaves no place for young souls whose search for fortune fails. It steals them away, exploits them and dumps whatever's left. Choi Yeonjun wasn't aware of this dark truth. Not until an attempt to protect his brother lands him with the mark of Neo Amorta—proof that his life is someone's property, and a free ticket to kill him should he ever try to run.
Relationships: Choi Beomgyu/Kang Taehyun, Choi Soobin/Choi Yeonjun
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	1. The Guardian

The first thing Choi Yeonjun does when he steps through the door is to take his shoes off. On the doormat, no matter what he's carrying. Groceries and book bags go on the floor to wait until he's finished. He takes his own off first, then moves the pair already thrown beside the shoe stand onto a free shelf, then places his own on the shelf above them. Every day. Where his jacket hangs is less important, so long as it's not on the floor. His brother's will be on the floor sometimes. Yeonjun always picks it up.

"Beom, I'm home."

Sometimes there will come an answer, sometimes not. Yeonjun doesn't wait for one.

If he's just carrying his school bag, then he will go to his room. It's through the first door on the left hand side and the smallest in the apartment, but with the best view out of all four rooms. A bed, a floor-level desk and a small TV with a gaming console connected to it is everything Yeonjun can fit in there. It neighbours the joint living room and kitchen, which see the same side of their cramped but cozy residential neighbourhood as Yeonjun's room. Tree tops and cars are small beneath the windows, which lay on the sixteenth floor. Many other buildings in the area are taller, though, so the windows on the other side of the apartment see only walls.

On those days when Yeonjun comes home with his arms full of groceries, he will head straight for the kitchen. He will peek into his brother's room, the second on the right hand side, and note that Beomgyu is either studying or lazying around on his bed. Yeonjun will ask if he is hungry, which Beomgyu almost always is, and then carry the grocery bags to the kitchen. Unload it all on the dining table and sort it into the fridge and cupboards. Leave whatever he plans to use for dinner on the bench. He doesn't rush. If he's had a really long day he might have a shower first, but most of the time he will just start making dinner immediately.

Half an hour to an hour later, he will call for his brother to come eat. They'll sit down by the table, which Beomgyu sets while Yeonjun finishes cooking, and talk about all kinds of things. Mundane things, mostly. How was school? When is Beomgyu's next soccer match? Will Yeonjun make it or does he have to work?

School is always okay. Beomgyu keeps his grades above average and Yeonjun struggles with his university exams. Beomgyu has soccer matches every second friday at six o'clock, two hours before Yeonjun gets off work at Buy the Way.

"Can't you get off early just once?" No, he can't. There's no one to cover for him and they need the money. Desperately.

After they've eaten, Yeonjun will put the leftovers in two separate lunch boxes while Beomgyu does the dishes. This happens mostly in silence, but it doesn't take long. They have a dishwasher and there's not that much food to take care of. Once the kitchen is clean, the two brothers will usually disappear into separate rooms. Unless it's Tuesday. On Tuesdays, they instead make a coordinated sweep through the apartment to gather up everything that needs washing. Clothes, towels, stained table cloths. If Yeonjun puts it in the washer, then Beomgyu will take it out and hang it on the drying rack. If Beomgyu starts the machine, then Yeonjun hangs the laundry. They never have to talk about this. It just happens. But if it's not Tuesday, then both of them will just go to their own rooms, close the door and stay there.

Today is Friday. Twenty past eight in the evening.

Yeonjun comes home with a small Buy the Way plastic bag and a backpack heavy with books. He takes his shoes off and places them on the shoe rack, which has an empty spot since Beomgyu's shoes are not there. His black canvas jacket gets thrown onto a hook before falling off again, landing on the top shelf of the shoe rack. For once, Yeonjun doesn't care. He just hobbles into the apartment on aching feet, turning into his room quickly to drop off the weighty book bag. On the way out again he stops on the threshold. With a long, exhausted sigh he leans himself on the doorframe and calls into the apartment.

"Beomgyu-ya. You home?"

He knows that his brother is still out. Soccer matches can easily last a few hours if you count changing and celebrations afterwards. Yeonjun hopes that it went well. Beomgyu's team has only won three matches this season, which isn't even a third of all the ones they've played. Beomgyu doesn't usually take it too hard, but Yeonjun loves the smile on his little brother's face when he retells how they bested the other team. And it gives them a good reason to celebrate. They don't get to do that very often.

Comfortable with knowing that Beomgyu will not be home for another hour or so, and that he will have already eaten, Yeonjun goes to the kitchen and throws down his Buy the Way plastic bag on the table. In it is an empty lunch box that he puts in the dishwasher, an extra spicy instant ramyun bowl (the stuff his mother would never allow him or his brother to eat), a bag of shrimp-flavoured seaweed chips and a can of soju. Simple end-of-the-week luxury and something Yeonjun looks forward to every single Friday. It's the only time he will ever treat himself. The entire rest of the week, he makes sure that Beomgyu has everything that he needs—nutritious food, functional soccer gear, whole shoes and some pocket money. He doesn't want his little brother to feel left out when his friends want to do something fun.

Before he prepares his dinner, Yeonjun does the thing he loves to do the most—he strips down to his bare skin, grabs a fresh towel from the dresser in Beomgyu's room and hops in the shower. Since he's home alone, he lets the bathroom door stand open. His phone lays on the toilet lid playing music as loud as he thinks the neighbours will allow. The shower runs steaming hot, almost scolding Yeonjun's skin as he washes himself off. He takes his sweet time schampooing his hair and scrubbing the smell of convenience store from his body. He sings lazily to the music, ignoring that he gets the lyrics wrong. He caresses himself in the comfort of the water, strokes his most sensitive parts—first gently, then faster—while he pretends that his hands belong to someone else. Who that person might be, he has no idea. Just... someone.

Feeling relaxed, cleansed and comfortably warm, Yeonjun gets out of the shower and towels himself off in front of the mirror. His black hair is a complete mess, long enough to tickle the apples of his cheeks when not brushed backwards. His skin has a number of impurities, but most are hidden by the thick fringe. He decides to shave now instead of in the morning, even though there's hardly any stubble to speak of. What little he can feel is uncomfortable, though, so he takes a while to get his face nice and smooth.

Yeonjun has never felt that he looks like much of an adult. His eyes are round and his mouth small and plump like a child's. His cheeks are round and flush easily. The one thing he's got going for him is his height. He and Beomgyu has that in common.

Wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and an oversized t-shirt, Yeonjun boils some water for his ramyun bowl, grabs his chips and soju and plops into the living room couch (another thing their mother will never allow them to do, to eat in the living room). With the world outside the windows having been dark for hours, he puts on the scariest movie he owns and devours his little private party hungrily. He's seen this movie before, so he doesn't care if he misses anything. He lounges on the sofa, scrolling through his phone mindlessly, sipping on the last few drops of soju. When the time nears eleven, he starts to feel his eyelids grow heavy.

He allows them to fall shut. He's been up since five this morning, and he usually doesn't get to go to bed until eleven on weekdays. Since he works late hours afer school at a nearby Buy the Way, he gets off at ten Monday through Thursday. The remaining three days of the week he works at _another_ Buy the Way, a little further from home. Four to eight on Fridays, twelve to eight on weekends. That leaves him very little time, and very little energy, to study in the evening, so he usually does that in the morning. Up five for an hour or two of studying, then breakfast with Beomgyu until they both head off to school.

Yeonjun likes weekends. He can sleep in however much he wants, then still have time to get up, eat breakfast, shower and get to work on time.

Well, not always, but quite often. Since he has so little time for such things the rest of the week, important stuff like paying bills and contact with social services. Yeonjun doesn't allow brother to touch those things, mostly to spare him from having to revisit their trauma. The bills are easy enough, but it's the meetings that take their toll. The phone calls and monthly reports. All the things necessary for Yeonjun to retain parental custody over himself and his brother, as well as to keep their monthly allowance of one million Won from Seoul's Child Protection Services.

As the older brother, Yeonjun can handle it. He will work every day for the rest of his life if it means Beomgyu can keep the life he's used to. It almost didn't turn out that way. On pure chance, Yeonjun was only two weeks from turning twenty when the world stole their mother from them. Or a drunken, perverted asshole did. Depends on how poeting the brothers feel when they talk about it. They found out from their Social Security officer that there was a chance that Yeonjun could take over as legal guardian for his brother, who at the time was only eighteen. The other option would have been separating the brothers and sending the younger to a temporary family home until the day he became a legal adult.

Even now, almost a year later, Yeonjun shivers at the idea. Thankfully, things are about as good as they can be. They are not separated and they have all the necessities of a normal family. If Yeonjun has to work a little harder than normal for that, he'll do it gladly.

With a jerk and a sharp intake of breath, he stirs to life on the couch. His phone falls from his hand and onto the floor, where it lands face up with a screen full of notifications. Yeonjun doesn't see them yet. He sits up and rubs his eyes awake, realising that the darkness of the apartment isn't his eyes playing tricks on him. The TV has turned itself off, leaving only the hallway light to illuminate the whole of their home.

Yeonjun yawns and smacks his lips. "Beom?"

No answer comes. He reaches over his shoulder to turn on a floor lamp standing behind the couch, flooding the living room and kitchen in light. Yeonjun calls again, but the apartment remains silent. Very silent. He wonders if Beomgyu has already come home and gone to bed. It feels like it's late. Maybe his brother saw him sleeping on the couch and didn't want to wake him. This wouldn't be the first time that happens.

But Yeonjun wipes his face of the waking tire and looks into the hallway. Beomgyu's door is slightly ajar and the room inside dimly lit, just like Yeonjun had left it when he went to grab a towel. Beomgyu never sleeps with his door open, or with the lights on. So Yeonjun stands up to go check, almost stepping on his phone. The movement makes the screen light up, still filled with unread notifications. This time, he sees them.

His brow furrows as he sinks back onto the couch and picks the phone up. It's a quarter to twelve. Yeonjun expects the notifications to be from Beomgyu, saying that he's either on his way home or will be staying at a friends' house tonight. But out of three missed calls and two text messages, only one is from his brother.

**BEOMMIE**  
**SENT 56 MINUTES AGO**

will be home late,  
don't wait up for me  
sleep well, hyung

Yeonjun gives a hint of a smile at the last part. Beomgyu isn't often one for being cute or cuddly with his family—especially not with his older brother. He likes to feel independent and mature, which he often is, but not in comparison to Yeonjun. That had come naturally when the older took over as head of the family.

Sending off a quick "ok", Yeonjun moves on to check the remaining texts and calls. All three missed calls are from the same number, but it's not one Yeonjun has in his contacts. When he checks the text message, it turns out that it too is from the same number. Yeonjun's heart sinks a little when he reads it.

**011-82-02-644-4194  
SENT 38 MINUTES AGO**

Hello, Choi Yeonjun-ssi.

I've been trying to reach your  
brother, but he will not answer  
his phone. Tell him that Park  
Moonhyun will take his  
position as goalkeeper until  
he feels healthy again and  
that he needs to borrow  
Beomgyu's gear until then.

Please also tell Beomgyu  
to call instead of leaving text  
messages next time since  
they are easy to miss  
before important games.

Sincerely  
Jung Donghwan, coach

"What the fuck...?"

Yeonjun doesn't know what to make of the message. Was Beomgyu not at the soccer match today? He has never _ever_ missed a game before, not even when he's sick. And if he for some reason is so sick that he can't play, then why isn't he at home in bed resting?

Wasting no time, Yeonjun calls the number of his brother's soccer coach. He knows that it is late and probably bothersome for the coach to answer, but Yeonjun feels like this is very important and can't wait.

The coach picks up almost immediately.

" _Hello?_ " There's a lot of background noise, as if he's is at a restaurant surrounded by people. Yeonjun guesses that he is, and that Beomgyu's team won tonight's match.

"Yes, hello. This is Choi Yeonjun, Choi Beomgyu's older brother. I'm really sorry for calling you back so late."

" _Ah, Yeonjun-ssi. Don't worry, it's fine. I was just trying to call Beomgyu but he isn't picking up so I figured he was asleep. You were marked as his emergency contact so I decided to call you. I just wanted him to know that we'll need his goalkeeper gear for tomorrow's practice. Moonhyun will pick it up tomorrow at around eleven, if your brother will just make sure to have everything packed up and ready._ "

"Oh, uhm, well...?" Yeonjun stammers, taken aback. "Okay, I'll—"

Should he ask if Beongyu didn't show up for practice? Should he say that his brother isn't at home and that he doesn't know where he is? Yeonjun doesn't think that is a good idea. Beomgyu could get in serious trouble on the team if it comes out that he skipped practice for some reason and lied about why. If he did, then Yeonjun would rather deal with it to his face instead of letting the coach do it.

He chooses his words carefully. "I'll have the gear packed for tomorrow and be here when your goalkeeper picks it up. I know where my brother keeps everything. That way we can keep more people on the team from, uhm, getting sick."

" _Great!_ " the coach says. " _And like I wrote in the message, please tell your brother to call next time. It's so much easier._ "

"I apologise for my brother. I will tell him. Thank you, Coach."

" _Have a good night, Yeonjun-ssi._ "

After saying goodbye, Yeonjun closes the call. He immediately goes to call his brother. Even before he puts the phone to his ear, he can feel a little bit of anger gathering in his throat. He can't come up with a single good reason for Beomgyu to skip practice like this. He loves soccer. All of his friends are on the team.

The tones pass by, but nobody picks up. After a gut-wrenching ten tones, Yeonjun cancels the call and tries again. Still no answer.

Bile rises from his stomach, making his mouth taste foul. Something is wrong. He can feel it in every cell of his body. The Choi brothers never leave their phones on silent or somewhere they can't hear them. Even in soccer practice, Beomgyu keeps his phone on ring in case Yeonjun needs to contact him. That was their agreement when their mother died, as a means of not having to worry about each other too much. They keep their schedules in an app where both can see them and never come home late without telling the other first. If something happens, they are always there for each other.

If something happens...

Yeonjun is on his feet in a split second. With one hand he presses his brother's contact again, putting the call on speaker so that he can multitask. As one tone after the other pass unanswered, he runs to his room to put on some pants and socks. His head spins with intrusive thoughts and images. There's probably nothing wrong at all, he tells himself. His brother is probably just out with some nice girl and doesn't want anyone to know, so he lied that he was sick to skip out on practice. He isn't answering because it's embarrassing to talk to your guardian big brother when you're on a date. Stupid decisions, but not unacceptable. Yeonjun repeats this in his head like a mantra.

Nothing has happened. Nothing is wrong. Beomgyu is safe.

Yeonjun is standing in the hallway with one shoe on, about to put on the second one, when he decides to be smart. In one hand he has his phone, the other his wallet. That's it, and it's not a good idea. Yes, he can convince himself all he wants that nothing is wrong, but that is no excuse to go out unprepared. He gives himself five minutes to make sure that he has everything he needs for a night spent walking if it turns out that he needs to look for Beomgyu. He grabs a warmer hoodie and his jacket, a charger cable and power bank. He's all good to go.

Then he finds himself in Beomgyu's room, looking through his wardrobe. His brother has two pairs of jeans and no more than a handful of shirts that he switches between when not wearing his school uniform. His black jeans and a red sweatshirt with street art patterns are missing, so Yeonjun assumes that those are what he's wearing. He also finds Beomgyu's soccer gear underneath the desk and school uniform in the laundry bin, meaning that his brother must have come home after school, changed and deliberately left without taking his gear with him. Skipping out on practice was intentional, then.

Yeonjun is just about to turn and walk out when he gets the sudden urge to check Beomgyu's desk. He has never invaded his brother's privacy before, especially not when Beomgyu isn't at home. But a feeling in his stomach tells him that he might find a clue as to where Beomgyu might be among his school books, which lay strewn all over the desktop along with his laptop. Yeonjun rummages through the notebooks and textbooks, scanning papers for a number in a girl's handwriting or anything else that might explain it all. He doesn't try to open the laptop. First of all, Yeonjun considers that to be crossing the line. Secondly, he has no idea what his brother's password is.

He stops.

Pauses and stares. Not at the laptop, but at an envelope. A plain, white envelope half-hidden beneath a folder, but with a strangely familiar piece of handwriting on it.

Yeonjun takes it out, and he is right. The writing is his own. The letter is addressed to Yeonjun's university board. He wrote it over a week ago and sealed it up, then asked his brother to post it on his way to school this last Monday. Apparently, he didn't. Yeonjun's heart caves in. Upon closer inspection, he notices that not only is the letter for some reason in Beomgyu's room—it's also been opened.

"For fuck's sake, little brother..." he whispers, a hard lump forming in his throat.

Folding the letter into his jacket pocket, Yeonjun dashes out of the room. He shoves everything he plans to take with him into a fanny pack, straps it diagonally over his chest and grabs his keys from a hook by the door. The time is half a quarter past twelve when he locks the door and exits the apartment complex, ready to begin a half-way desperate search for his brother.


	2. The Antihero

Choi Beomgyu feels his phone vibrating in the back pocket of his black jeans. It's on silent and the vibration is weak, but he feels it. He realises now that he should have turned the phone off completely. That way he could have explained later that it died and that's why he didn't answer. But if he turns it off now, his brother will know. Yeonjun will understand that something is up and come looking for him. He will be scared and disappointed—perhaps even angry. It's been a long, long time since Beomgyu did anything to upset his big brother.

At the same time, Beomgyu knows that he's being stupid. Not only because of what he's doing, but also _how_ he's doing it. He's not being careful. He texted his soccer coach that he was sick instead of calling and trying to make it sound legitimate. He hasn't answered any of his teammates' messages asking if he's okay. He lets his phone ring out instead of turning it off, making the whole situation seem both more suspicious and his future lies less believable.

He hasn't even tried to lie to his brother.

The thought crosses his mind that he's being reckless on purpose. Perhaps, deep down, he wants to be found out. Because the humiliation and reproach he will no doubt have to suffer if his brother was to catch him may just be easier to take than the guilt of having done what he is about to do.

"You can't wear that shirt."

Beomgyu glares at his "friend" over the edge of his glasses. "And why's that?"

"Because someone will fucking remember it, asshole," Shinil hisses.

"And he's gotta lose the glasses," Eunha agrees without once looking up. "He can't have anything that makes him stick out."

There's four of them in the small room, including Beomgyu. Shinil and Eunha are sitting on a bed among scattered pillows and items of clothing, the latter lying on her back against her boyfriend's chest. Both are in plain, dark sweatpants and black hoodies. Shinil's shoes has had the white details covered in black marker and Eunha's long bobcut is in a tight ponytail. She and Shinil look like the epitome of a dysfunctional, deliquent couple with their spiked leather jackets and oversized soles.

The third person in the room, Seungeun, grunts and walks over to the bed— _his_ bed—to violently shove the shoe-wearing couples' feet off of it. He then turns to Beomgyu standing in the corner by the door and pretending that his phone isn't about to be blown up. Seungeun looks the younger boy up and down with judgmental eyes, making Beomgyu feel uncomfortable.

"How bad's your sight?" he asks, not even remotely kidding.

Beomgyu responds as firmly as he dares. "Without them, either one of those two could be the girl." He gestures to the couple, who shoot him piercing glares. "I won't be very useful if I'm blind."

Seungeun scoffs, only half-way impressed. He sits down backwards on a chair and grabs a pencil off the desk behind him, twirling it between deft fingers. A new silence ensues, as awkward as the one before Beomgyu's _fashion sense_ was questioned. They're waiting. For what, Beomgyu isn't all that sure. He just knows to do as he's told—no more, no less. So he stands there, leaned on his palms to keep his phone from vibrating against the wall, mindlessly observing the room and his three soon-to-be partners-in-crime.

He seriously considers getting them caught on purpose, then banishes the thought from his mind. Doing that would create more problems than it solved. It probably wouldn't solve anything to begin with. Going through with it, though—and succeeding—will no doubt solve a lot of Beomgyu's issues.

Well, maybe not a lot. A few of them. By far the most important ones at least.

Beomgyu realises that Seungeun is playing with a pocket knife, not a pen.

All of a sudden, Shinil pushes his girlfriend up and off of himself, waving the phone he's been on this whole time in the air. "Alright, they've got a sucker in Hannam-dong. Let's get him before he scrams."

Both Shinil and Eunha are on their feet quick as lightning, ready to leave. Beomgyu stands up a little straighter. He hesitates to move, though, because Seungeun has yet to get off his chair. Beomgyu finds that the older boy is giving him a really weird look, as if there was something about him that just put Seungeun off. Beomgyu ruffles his black burr of hair nervously without thinking about it, then puts on his best bad-boy face and pokes his chin out at Seungeun.

"What?"

"Strip."

Beomgyu recoils. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Seungeun gestures with the knife at Beomgyu's chest. The look on his face is calling the younger boy a child as clear as if he had said it. "The shirt. Lose it. Put it on inside out, I don't give a fuck."

Confused and flustered, Beomgyu looks down at his shirt. It's black, long-sleeved and hoodless, with colourful streetart printed all over it. It's mostly dark, though, so he doesn't see the problem. He has a dark jacket with him as well, so none of the patterns will be visible. But that doesn't seem to be enough for the rest of them. Shinil shoves a finger into Beomgyu's arm, causing him to stumble and put his hand over the hurting spot.

Seungeun's having none of it. "Just _fucking_ do it."

"Alright, alright! I'm doing it."

Beomgyu hates these people. He feels so far from being one of them that he's surprised that they still want him there at all. Shinil grins creepily as Beomgyu begins to take his shirt off, while Eunha looks on unimpressed. She even has the audacity to laugh a little when he's standing there bare-chested. Beomgyu doesn't exactly carry a six-pack around, but he's fit enough for a goalkeeper. And although Eunha's opinion can't possibly matter to him any less, he gets the strong urge to insult her right back.

But since he wants to survive the night, he keeps his mouth shut.

The shirt goes back on inside out, where there's no patterns. Beomgyu adjusts his glasses almost spitefully, then follows the other three as they exit the room. Seungeun's family house is rather large but in terrible shape. Paint is flaking off from the ceiling and the walls, it's dusty and dirty and smells something aweful of cigarette smoke. And elderly woman sits in the living room, drinking what Beomgyu supposes can't be her first bottle of the day. She screams at Seungeun when they leave the house, something about him no longer being her son if he comes home in a police car. Seungeun doesn't even answer her. The interaction hits Beomgyu like a bucket full of ice, chilling him to the core.

It hurts. So, so much.

It also reminds him why he's here. Beomgyu and Yeonjun don't have a mother anymore. They have only each other.

Yeonjun can't go on being the only one having to make sacrifices for the two of them.

The four of them squeeze into a small, two-door car that Beomgyu is certain that Seungeun is not allowed by his mother to take. Beomgyu is fortunate enough to get the passenger seat, or else he would be forced to share the back with either of the "happy couple". On the flipside, sitting beside Seungeun soon turns out to equal a forty-five minute nightmare of trying not to hold on to any of the car's interior, a half dozen heartattacks and a lesson in just how fast a 2003 Toyota Corolla can change lanes when faced with the nose of a truck at over 140 kilometres an hour. Beomgyu is positively sweating with fear by the time they reach Hannam. He hasn't sat in a car since his mother passed away. Both because Yeonjun gave up trying to get his driver's license after that, and the money they got for the car bought them a therapy vacation—the last time the two of them did something fun like that together.

Beomgyu plans on changing that.

"Hyung," Eunha says from the backseat as they turn onto a smaller road. Beomgyu has only ever heard her use the "proper" male pronoun for her boyfriend. "So what's the plan now? Who takes _him_?"

She nods in Beomgyu's direction. Beomgyu has also never heard her refer to him by name.

"The usual fucking strategy, idiot," Seungeun barks. "You and Shinil go in, haggle his ass until he gets distracted, then we smash him. Grab everything and run."

"And Beomgyu?" Shinil adds to emphasise his girlfriend's question.

Seungeun side-eyes Beomgyu. "He's with me. Do we have a location?"

"Itaewon-ro, 42-gil. Saem is tailing him."

Beomgyu has no idea who Saem is, but he has heard the name mentioned a couple of times. He thinks that it's some area kid that the gang is using to spy out potential targets—in this case, a drug dealer. How and why Seungeun and his group knows how to do this, to track down people who probably has a lot of cash on them but can never go to the police if they were, say, _robbed on the open street_ , is beyond Beomgyu's understanding. He tells himself that he doesn't care. That he's better off not knowing. All he knows for sure is that he's here now and he's about to gang up on a drug dealer. To rob one and run off.

And the money he gets from it will keep Yeonjun is school.

His phone is in his jacket pocket, which Beomgyu keeps pressed against his abdomen. Every now and then, it vibrates.

The car stops somewhere Beomgyu has never been, but he knows that they are in Itaewon. And he knows that he's not very far from where he will commit his first ever crime. He tells himself that it will also be his last. That he'll do this because he has to and never, ever again. If Yeonjun finds out, he'll suffer the consequences and rebuild the broken trust. He'll grovel on his knees and beg for forgiveness, and when Yeonjun has calmed down enough to listen, he'll explain his intentions. Yeonjun will be thankful. He'll understand. Because ever since their mother died, he has been the one to cut down on things. He stopped taking piano lessons. He never buys himself any clothes. He pushed up getting his driver's license. And not once has he asked Beomgyu to do the same.

Shinil and Eunha get out of the parked car without a word, walking away arm in arm. Apart from Shinil's hand sitting a little low over his girlfriend's behind, Beomgyu thinks that they behave like any normal couple on the street. If a little weird-looking.

Beside him, Seungeun literally gags. "Disgusting."

"Why?"

"She's my fucking sister, what else am I supposed to think? Bastard's drooling all over her." He gags again, then goes on his phone. "You got no sister. Lucky sucker."

Beomgyu says nothing about Yeonjun. He hasn't mentioned him even once since he started "hanging out" with Seungeun and his, apparently, younger sister (Beomgyu had no idea until now). Although, Beomgyu is certain he would not react anywhere near as insensitively as Seungeun if Yeonjun was to get a girlfriend.

Or boyfriend. Beomgyu is pretty sure, if someone ever came along, it wasn't going to be a girl.

Beomgyu vows to make sure that Yeonjun will have both the time and money to take them out on a date when that happens. Whoever they may be.

They sit like that, in heavy silence, for quite a while. Seungeun is on his phone the whole time, but Beomgyu doesn't dare take his own one out. He's afraid that Seungeun will notice the many missed calls and worried texts and call him out for not having come up for an excuse to be away. Not that Seungeun apparently needs one. So Beomgyu looks out the side window at the brick wall they're parked beside. He counts them, tries to make out patterns in the mortar. Anything to keep his still panicking mind from doubting himself now.

After around fifteen minutes, Seungeung gets the text they've been waiting for. "Idiots' got our guy. Let's move."

Hoods up, facemasks on and gloved hands down their pockets. Last thing Seungeun does before leaving the car is shove a small hammer in Beomgyu's hands. Beomgyu stares at the supposedly harmless hand tool, realising just how much damage one can do with one of these, then hides it inside his jacket. By the looks of it, Seungeun is hiding far bigger weapons in his fluffy down jacket. Beomgyu shivers. If he runs now, Seungeun might try to use those on _him._

The backstreets of Itaewon are dark but full of people. Most are seated in or outside of the many small establishments that line the road, but many are walking too. It's a very select crowd, Beomgyu notes. Not all that many women, and absolutely no one below twenty-five. Apart from him and Seungeun, of course. But where Seungeun can probably pass for a lot older than he is, Beomgyu sometimes has issues living up to his actual age. The masks help. They pass the crowds unnoticed. It's rather cold for an October night, so they're not the only ones covering their faces. The black getups blend into the side of the street that isn't lit up with storefronts and neon. Beomgyu is worried that the tag on his inside-out shirt will be visible and draw someone's attention. He realises fairly quickly that he has far, _far_ worse things to worry about.

Seungeun leads them around a corner, away from the main street. Here there are no street lights apart from what shines through from either side of the alley. It's long and empty of all but distant sounds. About half-way, it crosses with another, equally dark and eerie alleyway between buildings. Beomgyu figures that it must be used for trash containers and deliveries, although not many vehicles would be able to squeeze in there.

This is where they find Shinil and Eunha.

On the ground.

On top of their targeted drug dealer.

"Hyung, he tried to run!" Shinil calls through gritted teeth, wrestling the top half of the drug dealer on top of who he is sitting. "Get in here!"

There's really no need to ask. Seungeun is already running towards the fight, producing what can only be a small baseball bat from inside his jacket. He pulls Beomgyu along by the sleeve, jerking him forward violently. In the heat of the moment, Beomgyu reacts on instinct. He isn't thinking logically or rationally. His animal brain tells him to fight, and preferrably for the side that seems to be winning. So he grabs the hammer that Seungeun supplied him with, stumbles forward into the alley and attacks the drug dealer.

Seungeun's bat strikes first, but his aim is barely half-way decent. He hits the dealer's shoulder, gracing Shinil's scalp with the tip of the bat, causing the latter to lose his focus. His hands go to his head, releasing the dealer's arm which flings upward at Shinil's face. At this point, Beomgyu has reached them and is aiming his first strike downards at the dealer. That, too, misses, but not as badly as Seungeun's strike. Beomgyu's hammer catches on the drug dealer's ear. The pain forces the man's (???) head down into the asphalt where he stays for just a moment, disoriented and in shock. Behind Shinil's back, Eunha is wrestling the man's (??) legs. She takes several hard kicks to the chest and stomach, but stays firm in place despite her lacking size. The man (?) isn't all that big, nor especially tall. In fact, a tiny and definitely not prioritised part of Beomgyu's brain registers that it might not be a _man_ at all.

It's a boy.

Before he knows it, Beomgyu's second swing flies through the air, straight at the boy's face. This time, there's not much movement from any of the involved parties. The flat end of the hammer hits the dealer's jaw. Beomgyu can't tell if it's his adrenalin-poisoned imagination or fact, but his ears catch the sound of bones cracking. Blood splatters from the wound—not much, but enough for Beomgyu to see—before it starts to literally pour from the boy's mouth.

At this point, the dealer starts to panic for real.

With a swift twist of his entire body, the boy has freed his legs and shoved Shinil off of his stomach. He evades a no doubt fatal blow from Seungeun's bat and places a strong kick right beneath Eunha's collar bones, putting her out of commition. Beomgyu backs off, because now the dealer is getting on his feet. Beomgyu wants to stop him, to throw himself at the dealer and put him back on the ground, but moving closer will most likely just put him in between the dealer and an almost psychotic Seungeun, whose swings with the baseball bat are becoming more and more uncontrolled.

The dealer is standing up now. His mouth hangs open, blood gushing down his jaw and throat, eyes livid and wide with terror. His coat hangs loosely off one shoulder, revealing a slender frame and a narrow waist. The boy can't possibly be above twenty, that low-priority braincell tells Beomgyu. Something about that fact makes it to the surface of Beomgyu's frenzied mind, causing him to hesitate.

The boy moves forward, but just one step. Then Seungeun's bat hits him square over the shoulder blades from behind. Beomgyu can literally hear his lungs being forcefully emptied before the boy crashes to the ground. From there, he doesn't move much anymore.

Everything slows down to a brief pause. Shinil gets on his feet and Seungeun stops swinging. Eunha crawls into a corner and uses the walls to stand up, panting and bitting her lip in obvious agony. The dealer chips for air as if he's been under water for minutes, spitting blood all over the pavement and Seungeun's shoes.

With something between a shove and a kick, Seungeun turns the boy over onto his back. His face is contorted in pain and he immediatelly tries to turn back over. Beomgyu can understand why, even as his brain is fighting to process what's going on. Lying face-up, the blood coming from his chin-wound—the one Beomgyu just gave him—pours into his mouth and down his throat.

Beomgyu is watching a person most likely younger than himself drown in his own blood.

And Beomgyu can't make even his eyelids move. Let alone his arms or legs.

Seungeun spits beside the dealer's head. "What the fuck is this? It's a fucking kid!"

"Just check him!" Eunha barks from the corner she has occupied.

Shinil does just that. He gets on his knees and rummages through the dealer's coat. Even as he struggles to breathe, the boy lifts one arm and weakly tries to brush Shinil off, hissing something along the lines of "Stop, please". Seungeun answers this by kicking him again, this time in the shoulder. A whimper of pain escapes the boy, who goes back to trying to breathe through the blood.

There doesn't seem to be much on the dealer, because Shinil and Seungeun grow more and more frustrated. Throughout their violent mugging of the helpless boy, Beomgyu begins to wake up. His vision clears and his head starts to form coherent thoughts. Most of them are telling him to run, to drop the hammer, to call the police, to call his brother. Some are less humane and based solely on selfish survival instinct, like sugegsting that they kill the boy to avoid him testifying against them out. Those types of thoughts don't make it very far, because Beomgyu's heart is all too big. So the thought that does make it through his inner selections is one of sympathy, guilt and a wish to rectify what they've done.

He wants to help the boy.

"Hyung, just..." he begins. Seungeun isn't listening. Beomgyu's voice grows stronger unintentionally. "Just stop. Stop!"

At that, Seungeun reacts. Violently. He stands up so fast that Beomgyu can barely register it, then pushes the younger to the ground. Beomgyu is so unprepared that he doesn't catch himself, hitting his head on the asphalt. The world spins a little. By the time his eyes focus again, Seungeun is standing above him, the bat hanging threateningly from his white-knuckled fist.

"You want some of this?! Huh?! You gonna take his side and rat us out?"

"Stop it, Hyung!" Eunha cries out, way to shrill and way too loud. Beomgyu can't imagine the faraway crowded street not hearing that.

"What!? Beomgyu-ya's gotten to you too? You little bitch?"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT IT!"

The last scream is from Shinil, and it draws all of their attention. Seungeun turns around to stare his friend down, not at all pleased and possibly a little rabid. Eunha and Beomgyu's eyes also go to Shinil. But the dishevelled young man doesn't say anything more. He just points to the boy on the ground, eyes blown wide and words stuck in his throat. Beomgyu doesn't understand, but Seungeun seems to. Eunha too. Their eyes go as wide as Shinil's, who by now is looking almost...

... frightened.

"Hyung, what the _fuck_ will we do now?"

Beomgyu cranes his neck to see. Shinil looks to be holding the young drug dealer's collar down, pointing to something on the boy's chest. Beomgyu gets his arms in underneath himself and sits up. There, in between the boy's collarbones, is a black tattoo of sorts. Beomgyu's angle is too steep to make out what it looks like. Whatever it is, it means something to the others.

More, apparently, than whatever loot they were hoping to get out of this attack. More than stealth or the eradication of evidence. Because almost simultaneously, all three of them just... _run_.

Seungeun drops his baseball bat. Shinil scrambles to his feet, throwing what little he had managed to get from the pockets of the young drug dealer. Eunha is right on his tail, grabbing after her boyfriend, both of them stumbling on the massive soles of their shoes. Within seconds, they are gone. None of them even try to grab Beomgyu or call after him to follow. None care that they're leaving witnesses.

Beomgyu sits there, leaned on his elbows, with his heart beating holes into his ribcage. Before him is the drug dealer, sprawled on the blood-splattered ground, still breathing with immense difficulty. Beomgyu's brain is on high alert, but none of his primary functions seem to work. He just sits there, a lone tear dropping from his eye and mixing with the sweat that has beaded on his skin. The palms of his hands sting. His chest hurts where Seungeun shoved him.

For some reason, he finds himself crawling over to the boy's side.

The young dealer is most definitely younger than Beomgyu, but perhaps not as much as he'd first thought. Nineteen perhaps, maybe eighteen. He has a sharp jawline and large, round eyes, although those are closed tight and wrinkled in pain at the moment. His hair is straight, auburn and quite long, spreading out around his head like a bizarre, unwashed and bloodstained pillow. Beneath a large, softly rounded nose, a wide mouth spewing blood and saliva.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry, please...! I'm sorry!"

Beomgyu tries his best to help. He uses his sleeve jacket to wipe the blood from the boy's mouth, aids him in turning back around onto his stomach. He holds his hair and tries to feel his chin to see if it's broken. The boy tries to fight him off, but his movements are so weak that they can barely pass for a struggle. Beomgyu is only going on empathy now. Whatever energy he had when he started, whatever adrenalin he got when he charged at the boy, is gone. He wants to die, to cry, to reverse everything that just happened.

He wishes that he had just gone to soccer practice.

All of a sudden, after a few minutes of just resting, the boy is on all fours. Beomgyu tries to help him stand up, but the boy shoves him aside. Hard, this time. Beomgyu gets up, holding his arms out for potential support as the boy struggles to his feet. Slowly, but surely, he straightens out. And when the boy seems sure that his legs will hold him, he goes for the bat.

Beomgyu has no chance of reacting. No chance to protect himself.

The swing is nowhere near as strong as Seungeun's were, but it is potent. It is unexpected. The bat flies at Beomgyu's head and catches him over the temple, knocking him out cold instantly. Beomgyu drops to the ground like a broken bag of flour. The boy runs. To where, Beomgyu has no idea. He knows nothing more from that night.

Until he wakes up, six hours later, handcuffed to a hospital bed.


End file.
